


Most Vampire Lore is Crap

by Nutkin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: blindfold_spn, Kink Meme, M/M, Vampire Dean Winchester, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2288636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutkin/pseuds/Nutkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of the time, whatever, Dean's a vampire now, except vampires mate for life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Vampire Lore is Crap

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Blindfold kink meme prompt, "Vampire!Dean/Sam. Dean can't stop himself from wanting to feed on Sam's beautiful, long neck. He should also totally fuck him. And of course, vampires mate for life."

Most of the time they can pretend it didn't happen.

It's just one more thing in the long chain of events that fucked over the Winchesters, at the end of the day. One more thing they have to accommodate. The larger issues of heaven and hell have all but faded away, and that's the silver lining Sam chooses to see; there's no threat that Dean will get thrown back in the pit now. No questions of souls on the chopping block.

Most of the time it's not an issue, except that they have to keep thinking up new ways to get their hands on blood. Cattle deaths are too conspicuous, draw too much attention. The last thing they need are more hunters on the lookout for the boy with demon blood and his vampire brother. They knock over blood banks, instead. Sometimes Dean'll find some girl wearing pentacle necklaces and a lot of eyeliner in a bar, and he'll take her home and feed until she's as pale as he usually is.

Most of the time it's fine, except it hasn't changed the way Sam still wants Dean. He still drops to his knees for it, just to feel Dean's cock smearing over his mouth and shoving deep in the pit of his throat. He still gets on his hands and knees and takes it, lets Dean fuck him and hiss about how pretty he is, how good it is.

Most of the time, whatever, Dean's a vampire now, except vampires mate for life. Vampires can't function without that connection to another person; they waste away without it, and it's not like Dean's could be anyone but Sam. Sam's always needed Dean, but Dean needs Sam now in a way that he never has before.

And then there's the way Dean touches him. Sometimes they'll just be lying in bed, Letterman blaring on the TV, and Dean will reach over casually and swipe a thumb against Sam's neck. Right where the pulse is moving in his throat, like he can sense it. Christ, he probably can. He doesn't ask, just touches. Sometimes he'll let his eyes drift shut like that, fingertips pressed against the quickening thud of Sam's heart-beat. It gets him off in a way Sam can't begin to understand – gets Sam off, too. It pulls at something deep in his stomach with the word, the idea. _Mate_.

"I want you to," he finally says. It's just another ordinary night, just another shitty motel room after a standard salt and burn of a job. Dean's eyes open, his hand starts to move away, but Sam moves quicker; he grips Dean's wrist and holds it there, pressing into the side of his neck. "I know you want to, Dean. It's okay."

Dean licks his lips. He hasn't fed in a day or two. He only needs it a couple of times a week, has learned to make do with that, but Sam can see something dark flare in his eyes at that. He swallows and looks away.

"I don't want to hurt you," he finally says. "It's just—"

"I know." Sam lets go of his wrist and reaches over, touches Dean's t-shirt. "Just do it, Dean. If you won't turn me, at least let me be this. For you."

Dean tips in against him slowly, just leaning there for a second before he angles in for a kiss. He licks in, smooth and sweet, breathing all cool and soft against Sam's cheek. Sam isn't sure at first if he won that one or not, and then Dean moves lower, mouth brushing over Sam's chin, Sam's jaw. He trails the tip of his nose along the line of Sam's neck like he's _smelling_ the blood in him, and for some reason Sam can feel his cock thickening in his boxers at the idea. Heat's sweeping through him in waves, and he knows his pulse is picking up, can feel it moving in his fingertips if he really focuses.

Dean's mouth is soft at first on his throat, just pressing a kiss there. Sam shuts his eyes and arches his neck, opening up for it as much as he can. As much as he would for anything else Dean was giving him.

All he can manage when Dean finally bites is a faint noise of surprise. It's sharper than he expected, that row of neat, pointed teeth stabbing in, but he can feel Dean's breath there, too; feel a hand on his chest as Dean rolls in over him more.

He'd imagined it countless times, but it wasn't ever like this -- not Dean just taking it so easily, pulling at his throat with smooth, steady sucks. It feels wrong, so fucking wrong that he ever let Dean do this to someone else, because this is intimate. Personal. He doesn't even know he's bringing his hand up until it's on the back of Dean's head, skimming through his spikes of hair and gripping up top, where it's the longest. Holding him there.

It's minutes, maybe, that feel more like seconds when Dean pulls back. He looks flushed, eyes bright – he looks _alive_ like he always does when he feeds, and Sam's distantly aware that Dean's cock is pressing against his thigh.

"Sammy," he breathes. When he kisses him this time, Sam can taste his own blood on it, sharp and hot and salty in the corners of Dean's mouth. It's like a wall's come down, some last invisible line crossed, and Sam's beyond caring. He pushes his tongue in deep, swiping over Dean's and pulling at his fat bottom lip.

He's not totally sure if Dean rolls him over or if he just does it himself, landing on his stomach and lifting his hips when Dean yanks down his boxers. He can feel Dean's fingers come to that wet spot on his neck, blood still welling there. He smears it, warm and sticky down Sam's throat, and the fingers that move down to touch his hole are wet with it. It's not enough -- not nearly enough, but then Dean's moving over him, shifting lower until it's his tongue there, wet and sloppy. Licking it out of him, into him, Sam doesn't even know; he's got him spread wide, tonguing around the muscle of his hole teasingly and then spearing in.

He's still pretty open from the last time they fucked, so it's easy, so easy for Dean to get a finger in there, and then two. Sam's hips are rolling for it, fucking himself back onto the fingers and grinding his dripping cock against the sheets.

"Do it." His grips the blankets, panting into them as Dean scissors his fingers. "Do it, Dean, come on—"

Dean's only cursorily careful as he rubs the fat head of it against Sam's hole, popping through the ring of it. It's slow at first, not as wet as usual, but then Dean gives a helpless jerk of his hips and he's in, really in.

"Fuck," he gasps, gripping Sam's hips, and Sam just pushes back. "Fuck, Sammy, yeah – just like that."

He practically pulls Sam back on his cock and just keeps them like that for a second, buried in deep. Hot. Hard. The realization swims through Sam's brain again that this is it, he's the only one Dean can fuck anymore, the only one for him, and he can feel himself clench around Dean's cock.

"Yeah, baby. _Christ_." Dean rolls his hips, then, pumping slow at first and then harder, like he knows Sam wants it. Every stroke feels like it's hitting that hot place in his stomach, the one that throbs every time he knows he's Dean's, and Sam's lost in it, drunk off it, until Dean leans in over him again.

He just nuzzles that spot on his neck, hips giving him short, demanding strokes as he breathes against that line of teeth-marks. It's like a brand on his skin, and just knowing Dean's looking at it makes him writhe sluttishly beneath him, lifting a little on his palms just to get more of his cock in him.

Dean licks it at first, licks over at the blood that's still fresh there, catching a drip of it that Sam can feel rolling down the column of his throat. It's instantaneous, how his hips jerk in harder as soon as his tongue catches it. Like he's hotwired for it, for this – feeding off Sam and fucking him.

"Dean," he breathes, helpless, and Dean doesn't even pause before biting him again. The pricks of his teeth are like razors, but then he can feel it again – feel the slow suck, coming in waves, like a silky counterpoint to the hard, rough thrusts he's getting. Dean’s slow about it, somehow – pulling it out of him all gently, losing these sweet, raspy, animalistic grunts as he fucks him deep.

It's all too much, way too much, like he's being pulled in too many different directions to keep track of. The heat that's been pooling in his guts since that first kiss on his neck starts to overflow, and he can't even get out Dean's name before he's spurting over the sheets, twisting away, twisting closer as he loses it. Pinned there under Dean, getting taken in every way possible.

Dean pulls back then, his skin hot to the touch in a way Sam had forgotten, hadn't felt since he turned. His hips keep moving in those jabbing, rough thrusts, riding him. It doesn't even matter that Sam came already; it's good, that heavy warmth against his back, Dean fucking deep into him.

"Sammy, Sammy, baby," he huffs, and Sam feels his fingers brush over that sore, bitten spot on his neck again just before Dean goes all taut against him and blows, shooting off deep inside.

After, when Dean moves and Sam rolls over, he's weak. Loose-limbed from it and a little dizzy; he's known blood loss before, but this is a new realm.

Dean cleans him up with the first-aid kit, hands gentle and careful, and Sam shuts his eyes when Dean leans in to give that row of teeth-marks a lick before he puts the band-aid on.

 


End file.
